


Nocturne in C# minor

by pocketsfullofmice



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Dubious consent and dubious meals, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-05
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-17 18:52:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/870856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketsfullofmice/pseuds/pocketsfullofmice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Hannibal were a good psychiatrist or a good man, he would tell Will how inappropriate it is to hold him as he sleeps.</p><p>He's not a good man, though, and he's an even worse psychiatrist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nocturne in C# minor

**Author's Note:**

> First fic for this fandom. Let's hope I don't bastardise the characters too much.

After the fourth time Will turned up at Hannibal's door step, sometime between midnight and two AM, Hannibal decided to set a new rule into place. At their next session (Hannibal loathed to think of it as therapy, as Will was precious and broken and liable to shatter into a million pieces at the drop of hat and Hannibal saw himself more as a herald than a psychiatrist to Will), he sat him down and waited until looked up at him. He never quite met his eye; the only time he did was when he was feeling stable and solid within himself, and he hadn't for a long time. Instead, he looked a few inches to the left of Hannibal's face, focusing somewhere behind him. Hannibal took it as a privilege, as Will tended to look a good foot away from Jack Crawford.

'You cannot come to my door in the middle of the night any more, my dear Will,' he said, carefully, keeping his expression neutral.

'I'm sorry. I know that it's- I should wait until- it's usually, it's usually noth- I can wait until- '

'That's not what I meant at all,' her interjected, cutting Will off. As sweet as Will's apologies were, he wanted to move along. He was still, according to those involved, Will's psychiatrist. Perhaps not the best one for Will, but he was his psychiatrist all the same. He had to advise Will when it was appropriate to apologise and when the situation called for it. This was not one of those situations. 'You have been having your... episodes, when you've arrived at my door. Agreed?'

Will hesitated and looked down at his hands. 'Yes.'

'Therefore it's not your fault. You shouldn't apologise for something you have yet to gain control over. Most of your episodes have been at night. Do you know why that is?'

Again Will hesitated. He was always careful when choosing his words when it came to his black outs, as though he would be scolded for an incorrect answer, like a schoolboy with his favourite- or most feared- teacher. He licked his lips and raised his gaze just far enough to stare at Hannibal's knees.

'Dreams. Sleepwalking. Sleep talking.'

Hannibal nodded, encouraging that line of thought. 'Often times, people who experience such parasomnias report that they were acting out dreams. Maybe not exactly- a patient may report they thought they were preparing dinner for their spouse when in reality they were- ' He shrugged, watching as Will's eyebrows raised ever so slightly in anticipation, 'running a tap and pouring shampoo down the sink, for instance. Perhaps your night time escapades are of a similar nature. Do you remember any of your dreams?'

'Only what I've told you,' he muttered, just a lick too quickly. He was hiding something, Hannibal could tell, but he wouldn't rip it from him.

'I want you to call me. Before you so much as pick up your keys to drive here, I want you to call me, regardless of the time. I will drive to yours instead.'

Will threw him a doubtful look. 'I don't think that will work, doctor. I can't control what I do during my, ah, “night time escapades”.'

'I believe you can. And you will.'

And he did. Over the next fortnight he called five times, almost always sounding groggy, voice thick with sleep, occasionally distant as he struggled to break out of his episodes. Most of the time the front door was open, or at least unlocked, Will having had enough sense to realise that Hannibal would appreciate it. Will was invariably collapsed on his bed, sweat clinging to his brow and upper lip, his pyjamas soaked through, hands clammy. Hannibal didn't disturb him beyond propping his head on a pillow if it had fallen off, pulling a sheet over him and tilting his alarm back into his field of vision if it had been knocked aside as Will had scrambled awake.

Most nights Hannibal stayed awake. There was a lot he was interested in, in Will's house. He had snooped while feeding his dogs, but there were still many things he wanted to look at. He kept a small torch on him and he used it to read over the titles of the books on his shelves, poked around the minuscule kitchen, rifled through his medicine cabinets while Will slept fitfully. Eventually he would retreat to a couch, torch in hand and read while dogs sniffed at his pants and slept at his feet.

This was his pattern for the first fortnight until the last evening Will called. Hannibal had arrived in just under an hour, and he pulled into the driveway, fog marring his lights. Will's front door was open and his dogs were standing in the doorway, ears perked up and tails raised high.

Will was laying on the grass, clad in a t-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts, his flesh covered in goosebumps. Hannibal ran over, leaving his car engine running, lights flooding the scene. Will was fumbling with his keys, holding each one up to his eyes, his glasses having slid down his face. 

'Will?'

'I need to- ' Hannibal had crouched by Will, one knee on the wet, cold grass. Taking the keys from him, he pulled the glasses from his face, folded them and slid them into his pocket. Will pressed his clammy hand to Hannibal's knee to push himself up. He was shaking, face pale, breath coming out in short, desperate bursts. 'It's following me and I need to- if I can drive it into the river- '

'You're sleepwalking. Do you know where you are?'

Will darted his gaze up to Hannibal, as though seeing him for the first time. His arm gave way and he slipped, chest hitting Hannibal's knee. A gasp rocketed from him, but before he could slip further, Hannibal caught him, hands sliding under his arms to keep him up. One of the dogs had slipped from the pack and had run over, tail wagging from side to side. 

'Winston,' Will breathed. 'Back inside.'

Good. He was starting to return.

Continuing to hold onto Will, Hannibal stood slowly, keeping their chests pressed together. He'd barely straightened when Will's legs collapsed out from under him. He was freezing, a wheeze punctuating each breath. Sliding his hand down Will's back, over the curve of his ass and hitching him onto his hip, he started towards the house. It was awkward, a little ungainly, and while it would have been easy for Hannibal to literally toss Will over his shoulder, he was starting to wake up and take in his surroundings. Hannibal couldn't have him picking up how strong he really was.

The dogs parted when Hannibal approached, and they seemed to lead him to the bed. They looked over their shoulders as he carried Will, who was shivering, teeth chattering. Laying him on the bed, he pulled the blanket over him. Will started to fuss, and he kicked at the blankets, grabbing them in clammy, white-knuckled fists and started to push them down. Hannibal's hand lashed out like a whip and he grabbed his wrists in one, tight grasp. Will's eyes, still clouded, snapped open and he stared up at him.

'Stay,' Hannibal ordered.

Once he was certain Will wasn't about to squirm free, he returned to the front yard. From the first night, when his stomach had growled and the only items in Will's fridge were sausages he hoped to God were for the dogs, Hannibal had started to bring breakfast for two of them. Most his clients had appointments in the afternoon, and so he could afford to linger, eat with Will and drive back to Baltimore for a nap.

Pulling the cooler from the car, he grabbed his first aid kit as well and turned the car off. Entering the house again, he shut and locked the door behind him and crossed to the kitchen to set the cooler on the bench. Will was still in bed, colour returning to his face, his shivering having subsided. Winston was at the foot of his bed, head upon his paws, eyes following Hannibal's every move. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he opened the first aid kit and started prepping. Once he was ready, he slipped his arm under Will's shoulders and eased him up.

'Here,' he said, raising an inhaler to his lips. 

Will, submissive, sank a little into Hannibal's arm and followed his instructions. He breathed in with each puff, holding his breath until he was told to stop and take another. The wheeze in his lungs eased up, and once he was satisfied, Hannibal let Will go. He didn't lay back down immediately; instead, he continued to sit, looking a little awkward, perhaps even embarrassed.

'I'm going to make us some warm tea,' Hannibal announced, putting everything away. He kept the inhaler beside Will's alarm clock, and set his glasses there, too.

'I don't- '

'I'm going to make us some tea,' he repeated, insisting. 

As the tea brewed, he watched Will, the myriad of emotions that danced over his soft, tired features.

'I feel it may be useful if I were to have a copy of your house key. To date you have been in a state to unlock your front door, but I have a concern that there may come a day when you require my assistance and I am unable to so much as cross the threshold.'

In his exhausted haze, Will nodded. Half an hour later he was asleep, tea half-finished and the sweat on his skin dry. Hannibal poked around his house with greater interest that night, searching for clues to what could have set Will off, but coming up short. By three AM, he turned his torch off and gently pushed one of the chairs up beside Will's bed. He was laying spread-eagled, face to the pillow. Falling into the small couch, Hannibal took hold of Will's hand and shut his eyes, hoping he didn't develop a crick in his neck come morning.

*

Will had the key for him by the following afternoon. They didn't have an appointment scheduled (though Hannibal now kept any time after six free for Will), but Will still swung around after spending the day entering the mind of a necrophiliac with a penchant for orifices that didn't yet exist. He was shaking when he arrived, though the moment he placed the key on Hannibal's desk, he shoved his hands in his pockets and muttered he had to go feed the dogs. Barely having time to do anything else, Hannibal thanked him and rattled his keys when Will's back was turned to let him know he was immediately putting it on his keychain. 

That night he prepared breakfast with his dinner, putting it in the fridge to cool. He hung a suit in a drycleaning bag and laid it in the back seat of his car along with his briefcase. Sleep wasn't even an option; instead he luxuriated in a warm bath as Vivadi's Allegro in D wafted through. He dressed in a soft, knitted sweater, loose slacks; friendly, warm clothes, muted colours that would put Will at ease. 

And he waited.

At ten to midnight he took the meals from the fridge, packed them in the cooler and pieced everything together. He was just finishing when his phone rang. Barely even looking at the caller ID, he answered.

'I can't- it's stuck in my head and- and I know it's late, I know you're probably, but, um, I haven't blacked out I just- '

'I'll be there in an hour.'

Will hung up before saying anything else. He didn't have the same distant, thick voice he'd had in previous calls. Instead he sounded distressed, anguished, in need of a friend. 

The drive was easy, the roads empty given the time of night. He pushed the speed limit, just fast enough to get there before the clock clicked over to one in the morning. The lights were on in the downstairs part of the house (why Will didn't move his bedroom upstairs instead keeping himself confied to the tiny living room was beyond him), and as he pulled up into the driveway, he saw a shadow move past the window. It moved quickly, racing past as Hannibal started up to the door. It was locked, and although he heard Will padding inside, he had slid his freshly cut key in and opened the door before the other man could make it.

He was dressed in his t-shirt and shorts, which in itself wasn't an unusual sight. But he looked completely dishevelled, his hair curled far more than it usually was, his face pale though he had blue-black circles under his eyes. He had showered- Hannibal could smell the soap on him- but Will looked as though Hannibal had caught him in the buff. He was clutching one towel, another still draped over the bed.

'It's not good to sleep on wet sheets, my dear Will,' Hannibal chided kindly, heading past him to the kitchen. The dogs followed him, smelling the meat as he took the bowls from the cooler and placed them inside the fridge.

Will stared at Hannibal through the corridor for a moment before he realised what had been said. Face growing pale, he lurched towards the bed and whipped it off. He padded to the kitchen, twisting the towel in his hands.

'I wasn't- it's not- ' Stopping, he eyed the cooler. 'Christ, you brought food. I didn't mean for- you were here last night and- '

Hannibal cut him off.

'There are worse places to be on a weeknight. As it is, I see this as spending the evening with a friend and returning his good company with good food.'

Will didn't look convinced, as he stood there, holding the towel in front of him. Hannibal couldn't smell urine, and he wondered what had driven Will to place the towel on the bed in the first place. It didn't seem damp at all. Seeing Will sway a little, he raised his gaze. Will had his head to his chest and he was twisting the towel, stretching the terrycloth in his hands.

'I sweat. A lot,' he said, shame-faced. 'When I'm nervous. Nightmares, Having you here has helped, but...' He walked over to the living room-cum-bedroom and flopped down on the edge of the bed, one foot kicked up on the mattress boarding. 'I managed to sleep, but I kept seeing it. The- the gashes up her side, the way she'd been...'

As Will spoke, Hannibal walked slowly over. The chair he had moved to sit by Will was still there. Sitting down in it, he rested his elbows on his knees and watched as Will twisted the towel, slowly destroying it with every wring.

'I was there. I was there, and I could- I could f- _feel_ her around m- my- '

Hannibal cut him off. He pressed his hand to Will's wrist, gently. The towel fell from his hands, a smattering of blood on it from where it had cut into his skin. He was shaking, trembling like a leaf. Jolting, he stared up at Hannibal, gulping down a breath of air. Sweat was pouring down his forehead, his mouth twisted in a grotesque slant.

'Am I still here?'

Nodding, Hannibal took hold of Will's hand. He could smell the blood, the way it taunted him.

'I- I don't- I don't know if- and you're the only thing I- I know is here. I can feel you.' Will trembled and dug his fingers in. 'Can you please- please hold me? No, that's- forget I- I didn't mean- '

Hannibal was already standing. Without a word he crossed the room and turned the lights off, until it was only the moon and the red display of Will's alarm that shed light over the room. He unlaced his shoes and stepped out of them, shoving his socks inside. Removing his belt, he slung it over the chair and folded his sweater on top of it. Unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt and the fly of his slacks, he gently slipped into the bed. Will had fallen backwards on it, and he was still shaking.

'I didn't- you don't need to- '

Shushing him, Hannibal draped his arm over Will. Immediately he silenced, though his breathing was still shallow, his flesh hot, clammy to touch. Hannibal kept his breathing slow, even as he moved in closer until his chin brushed along Will's shoulder. Will stilled, and, without a word, rolled onto his side so his back was to Hannibal's chest. Tightening his arm, Hannibal pulled him in close, pressing his face to the back of his neck. He didn't sleep until long after Will's trembling had subsided and his breathing had evened out, until the sweat had dried from his skin and the numbers on his clock clicked past three am. 

*

The following morning, Will refused to mention anything about the night before, and his eyes never lifted above somewhere around Hannibal's left elbow. Hannibal didn't take any offence to it- in fact, he could completely understand why Will wanted to avoid talking about it. But every time his back was turned, he could feel Will's gaze boring into his skull. The man devoured his breakfast like it was the only decent meal he'd ever had- and going by the dismal selection of food in his cupboards, Hannibal guessed that that wasn't far from the truth. They left at the same time, Will heading to the Academy and Hannibal returning to his office.

And so it went. At Will's next session, Hannibal attempted to raise the topic of that evening, but Will managed to deflect each time it was raised, and when that failed, he just shut right down. A better therapist would have tried to edge some kind of admission from Will. Then again, a better therapist wouldn't have slid into bed behind him and held his patient as they slept. Hannibal didn't linger too long those on thoughts, however.

For a week, Hannibal's evenings were undisturbed. He kept a suit hanging up in his closet, covered in a drycleaning bag, and a packed meal in the freezer. He kept his phone close, on his bedside table, in ready reach. Every evening he anticipated Will's call, and it became a habit to regularly check his phone, even when he knew he hadn't received any calls or messages. It was hitting day twelve when his habitual checking finally paid off. Will's name and number lit up on his screen as he read a book, his phone resting upon his knee. Counting back from five, Hannibal answered the phone. Before he could even say hello, Will's breathy, sleep-thick voice came through.

'I'm- I'm sorry, I just- do you mind if- I told myself I wouldn't, last time was em- embarrassing enough, but...' 

Hannibal could picture Will, doubled over and covered in sweat, shame-faced and desperately clinging to one of his dogs as he tried not to cry. In the emptiness of his living room, Hannibal smiled and slid the bookmark into place. Collecting everything, he took his time leaving and driving to Will's house. When he arrived, the lower level light was on, but that was the only indication that Will was awake. He approached the door, briefcase in one hand, his cooler in the other, and very careful checked the front door. It was locked, which wasn't completely unexpected. Sliding his key home for the second time, he entered.

Will was sitting on the edge of the bed, one of his dogs, as Hannibal had predicted, on his lap. He looked like a wreck. Dark circles ran under his eyes, the rest of his face a pale, sickly white. His hair, difficult to maintain at the best of times, was sticking up around his head as though he'd been mindlessly running his hands through it. Hannibal could smell the sweat coming from him, even where he stood. Shutting the door behind him and twisting the lock, he approached the bookshelf and twisted the neck of the hanger so he could hang his suit from it. The kitchen was next, setting his prepared meals in the fridge. 

Will hadn't moved by the time he returned. He wasn't even feigning eye contact- his head was down, nose buried in his dog's fur. The chair still hadn't moved from Hannibal's first visit. Sitting down in it, he unlaced his shoes, took them off with his socks and stood. His belt was next, as was his jacket. Crossing the room, he switched the light off, plunging the room into blackness. As his eyes adjusted, he heard the dog bounding off the bed, its nails scratching over the hardwood floor as it joined his friends on the mat by the fireplace.

'Come, Will. Lie down.'

He had moved to the edge of the bed, intending to go about this with minimal discussion as Will didn't seem inclined to talk about it. But Will's hands had lashed out, and were clutching at his sweater, stretching the material. Hannibal froze, his eyes only starting to adjust. There was Will, his eyes shut tight, pain etched on his face as he sucked in a breath. He was shaking, trembling all over.

'I don't- I don't want- I can't sleep. I'm drowning. I'm- I'm at the beach and the water is, it's, it's receding and it hits me. And my dogs are, I can't find them, I can't get to them. Don't- don't make me sleep, there's, there's _voices_ \- '

'Will- '

'Don't make me sleep.' 

Without a word of warning, Will pressed his face to Hannibal's belly. He clutched at the woollen sweater, sucking in air. Combing a hand through Will's hair, Hannibal gently tried to push him back, though he kept hanging on like a limpet. He wanted him to calm down, but Will could be difficult when he was like this- he didn't seem to listen, and any words of comfort usually wound up aggravating him. 

'Will, let's talk about this,' he said, bending a little, finally managing to free a hand. 

Will didn't immediately respond. He let out a choked noise and grabbed at Hannibal's hair. The kiss was messy, a little off-centre at first. Hannibal didn't move- he didn't push Will away, but he didn't immediately reciprocate. Will didn't seem to notice; he just released Hannibal's stretched sweater and grabbed his face, pulling him down into a needy, wet kiss. He had been crying- Hannibal could smell the dried tears on his cheeks, could taste it on his lips. Will's hands were shaking as he shuffled backwards on the bed, trying to tug Hannibal with him.

'I need- I need- ' Will shut his eyes tight and finally released Hannibal's face. Balling his hands up into fists, he pressed them to his eyes and let out a hiss of a breath. 'I need you to- what is real and the- water keeps- '

'Will- '

Hannibal knelt on the bed and pressed his hand to Will's shoulder. Licking his lips, he tasted Will there, lingering on his tongue. 

'You said you were my rudder,' Will spat out. 'You said you would show me- '

This time Hannibal was prepared for it. Will moved fast, but he was clumsy, all limbs. He kicked Hannibal in the thigh as he thrashed forward, flailing a little as he overbalanced and fell to the side, dragging Hannibal with him. The kiss, though, was far better than the first. Hannibal could taste his desperation, his depression. Pushing Will down with one hand, Hannibal slid on top of him, swallowing each of the sounds that came from Will- an aborted whimper, a choked sigh, a faint gasp that turned into a soft moan when Hannibal broke the kiss and instead pressed his mouth to Will's pulse point on his neck.

'Plea- please, tell me- are you real, are you- '

'Yes.' Hannibal slid his hand up the side of Will's shirt, feeling his heart beat rapidly in his chest, his lungs expanding as he breathed, the press of his ribs against his hand. 'I'm quite real.'

'An' – 'nd you're not going to- you're not going to- '

'I'm not going anywhere.'

Will's breath hitched. His hands were everywhere, pulling at Hannibal's abused sweater again. He wasn't thinking clearly- Hannibal wasn't even certain if he was fully awake. A better man would have stepped back, pried Will's vice-like grip off him and forced him away.

Hannibal wasn't a better man. He wasn't even a good man.

Scooping an arm under Will, he shoved him further up the bed, his mouth moving to the soft spot under Will's chin and sucking there. He could feel the noises he was making, vibrating against his lips. Pushing Will's shirt up, Hannibal pulled it smoothly over his head and let it fall to the floor. Will barely said a word the whole time- his breath had started to hitch in his throat, his fingers pawing at the bed as his hands slipped from Hannibal's back. He writhed beneath Hannibal, the occasionally stutter of a word escaping him. Mostly it was Hannibal's name, just the first syllable, mixed with a 'please' and a throaty question about what was real. His hands clutched at Hannibal's sweater, and he pulled it right off, causing his shirt to get stuck under his arms.

'This is real, Will. You don't need to- '

Will either wasn't capable of listening or he was refusing to listen. He had latched onto Hannibal, his eyes shut tight, face pressed to the crook of his neck. He was still trembling, his hands tugging at Hannibal's shirt. There was a neediness to him- he had to be touched, to be caressed, to be forced back to reality by the weight of another body on his. His hands finally started to figure out the buttons on Hannibal's shirt, and he shakingly undid each one, stubbornly refusing eye contact the whole time.

'Will- '

'Don't let me drown. Can't- can't breathe, need you to- need you to- '

Grabbing the lapels of the shirt, he forced Hannibal back onto him. There was an amateurish way to how Will kissed- open mouthed, with a nervous, flittering tongue. He was desperate, straining his neck with the angle in which he kissed. His hand ran through Hannibal's hair, and he hiccuped anxiously against him. Hannibal shrugged his shirt off, letting it fall with Will's sweat-stained mess. Will was a quivering mess of neediness, all unrelenting desire and hunger. Breaking the kiss, Hannibal knelt between Will's shaking legs and pulled his boxers off. He was unceremonious about it- he simply yanked them off with a single, smooth gesture, pulling Will's legs into the air and flinging them away. 

'Han- '

'Shh.'

Pressing a finger to Will's lips, he waited until he was silent. Will was hard- the foreskin had started to roll back, the head of his cock peeking through. Hannibal gripped the base of his cock firmly, letting out a faint noise of approval. With a desperate keening noise, Will squirmed up, breathing hard. He sounded like he was choking, drowning. With a word for him to stay, Hannibal headed to the bathroom. He knew where Will kept his lube, his condoms- he'd already poked around. 

The lube was easy to find again. It was kept in the medicine cupboard, between a bottle of AcipHex and a spare tube of toothpaste. The lube was half-used, a firm indent in place where Will's thumb had been. The condoms were harder to find- they'd been knocked over, several linked packets spilling out. Grabbing it, Hannibal flipped it over and checked the expiry date. _JAN 2006_ was printed on the back. With a frown, Hannibal counted the number of condoms- only two had been used. Shaking his head, he dumped the packet and returned to Will. 

He was on his knees, swallowing hard, panting. He had a hand to his chest, the other to his thigh, as he bent over and gulped down air. As he heard Hannibal, he darted his head up, a look of worry crossing his face. He looked as though he'd just woken up from a dream.

'Hannibal. I- '

Crossing the gap quickly, Hannibal grabbed him by his shoulders and shoved him back down on the bed. Will went without fuss, though he did let out a slight noise of surprise. Setting the lube aside, Hannibal undid his slacks, unzipping them and letting them fall from his hips. Will was fussing with his briefs, letting out small sounds of frustration when they didn't immediately fall. Murmuring Will's name, Hannibal nudged him back up against the bed and pushed him against the pillows. 

'Hannibal, I didn't think- I- you don't need to- you're my, my psy- psychia- _ah_!'

Having slicked his hand up with lube during Will's meandering words, Hannibal had leant forward and taken him into hand. Twisting his wrist, he rolled the foreskin down and pressed his thumb to the underside of Will's cock. Will's head fell back against the pillows, his chest heaving up, back arched into a beautiful curve. His arms bent back, both hands against the pillows as he pressed up into Hannibal's hand. No other words came from Will's mouth. His throat kept catching, his eyes shut as his head fell to the side.

It was easy to get him to roll over, and even easier to press his fingers inside. Will whimpered with each twist of Hannibal's fingers, the sounds that came from him as sweet as any adagio. He pressed back into Hannibal's hand, his hand flat on the pillows. Puffing loudly, he pressed back, murmuring Hannibal's name. Hannibal didn't know what Will's sex life- or lack thereof- contained. He knew there wasn't much of one to speak of, but what gender Will had specifically had sex with had never been raised in conversation. 

'Han- Han, I need- '

The first press of his cock against Will's ass made him cry out. Hannibal just clutched at him, one firm arm around his waist and his hand flat to his chest. The other was at Will's hip, holding him steady as he pushed in, Hannibal hissing at how tight he was. Heading falling forward, Hannibal took a breath and braced his brow to Will's shoulder. Will had suddenly fall silent- he'd been making a whole array of noises before; moans followed on from sighs, a gasp trickled into a guttural groan as he'd pressed back and begged for more, whispering Hannibal's name like it was a lullaby. Taking Will by the hips, he pushed him onto his hands and knees before looping his arm back around his middle. 

Hannibal's first thrust was deliberately hard, as was the second, as he attempted to bring Will back. A better man would have stopped, a better psychiatrist wouldn't have his hips pressed to his patient's ass. Hannibal knew what was coming, though, and he prepared to force each stuttered word from Will.

Will twisted his head to the side, panting hard.

'It's- it's ten- ten sixteen PM. I'm in- I'm in Wolf Tra- Trap, Virginia. My name is Will- Will Graham.'

Will's arms had started to buckle out from under him. Hannibal gripped his tighter, forcing him against his bare chest. He could smell Will's arousal, his precome beading against his cock. Grabbing him roughly, he sat back and brought Will with him. It meant he could jack him with his other hand- it meant Will could see himself in the dark reflection of the glass.

'Again,' Hannibal growled in his ear.

'It's ten sixteen- seventeen- PM. I'm in Wolf Trap, Virginia and- an' my name is Will G- Graham.'

'Louder.'

'It- it- is ten seventeen PM. I'm in Wolf Trap, Virginia. My name- my name is- ' 

Will finally opened his eyes. He looked in the glass, at his flushed, fucked expression, his hair wild, lips red and swollen from where he'd bitten them. He saw the welt on his neck that Hannibal had caused, the blotchy hand print on his chest. The dark scowl on Hannibal's face as he thrust into him. The blackness in his gaze, the intensity with how he stared at Will as he fucked him, hard, rhythmical. A tree branch cut through Hannibal's reflection, the naked wood sticking out from his scalp.

At the sight of their reflection, Will's face slackened. His eyes locked with Hannibal's in the glass, as realisation dawned upon him. He didn't seem fearful- more dazed, confused.

'My name is Will Graham and you- you're- '

' _Yes_.'

Will came with a cry, spilling into Hannibal's hand. With a firm grip, Hannibal continued to stroke him, until he was shaking, doubled over in the same position Hannibal had seen him in when he'd arrived at his house. He came as Will let out a litany of Hannibal's name, intercut with strangled cries and pants. Collapsing against Will, Hannibal grabbed him tight and pulled him down onto the bed, refusing to let go.

'It's ten eighten PM. I'm in Wolf Trap, Virginia. My name is Will Graham.'

'And I'm Hannibal Lecter.'

Will shivered. Leaning over, Hannibal pressed a kiss to his shoulder blade. 

*

The next morning, after a shower, Hannibal was in the kitchen heating up their breakfast. He was already dressed, though he still had to put on his tie and jacket. As he took the dishes from the oven, he heard the bed creak and the sound of one of the dogs on the floor. Straining his hearing, he could just hear Will.

'It's seven forty-two AM. I'm in Wolf Trap, Virginia. My name is Will Graham. Last night... last night- '

'Thankfully, it wasn't a dream,' Hannibal said, returning to the living room-cum-bedroom. 'Here. Eat.'

'What is it?' Will didn't lift his gaze from his foot and just hugged his knee to his chest.

Breakfast in bed wasn't something Hannibal typically indulged in. It was awfully messy, and it lacked the proper treatment a good meal was meant to have. But given the lack of an appropriate dining setting and Will's nervous demeanour, it seemed to be the best way into coaxing Will to eat. Will sat in silence, refusing to look Hannibal in the eye, while Hannibal chatted somewhat aimlessly. A deep crevice appeared on Will's forehead, and it remained there until Hannibal collected their plates, cleaned them and made his bid to leave.

He spent the rest of the day focusing on his work, his patients, his art. He paid all of it the same kind of distracted interest he did to most of the things in his life. He focused on them while having continued running thoughts on what he was having for dinner, what Will was up to, if he really wanted to purchase tickets to the opera. He went home and prepared dinner, letting the sweet, melodic notes of Pachelbel float through the kitchen.

He was just sitting dinner when he received a phone call.

'Hannibal?'

'Yes, my dear Will?'

There was a pause. Then, 'I was wondering- if it's not too much trouble- if you could come around. I- I need you.'

Hannibal smiled and set his fork down. He could be there within the hour.


End file.
